


Why Not Ask For More?

by dedougal



Series: Army Training [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Community: cottoncandy_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is sure that being used as a deadly weapon does not count as a date, no matter what Derek might think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Not Ask For More?

**Author's Note:**

> For the Cotton Candy prompt "date". And for Dazed Rose! Nicest lady in the whole wide world <3
> 
> This takes place a few years after the last story.

“Target is painted,” Stiles reported, rocking back on his heels and starting to strip the weapon. There’s a crackle over the radio and a faint ‘Roger’. He looked at Derek who is watching the endless blue sky with a hand shading his eyes. He was standing tall above Stiles, one hand resting casually on his sub-machine gun and Stiles wanted. He kinda always wanted. Derek grinned down at him, all teeth, before nodding his head. 

“Bird on the way.” Derek dropped his hand and casually looked around. They were alone. Well, them and a drug dealer headquarters and processing plant that was about to be smashed to smithereens by a very powerful bomb.

Stiles finished stripping the overly complicated bit of kit and packed it away neatly. By the time he’d finished, even he, with his crappy human ears, could hear the boom of the plane’s engines. The explosion was nicely spectacular and he waited for Derek to confirm the kill before he ordered their retreat. Their pick up point was a very pleasant couple of miles hike through dense rainforest. Where insects larger than Stiles’ head would try to eat him. He was so looking forward to that.

Derek nodded and then shrugged out of his jacket and sat on it.

“Aren’t we bugging out? Got an RV and all.” Stiles thumbed in the opposite direction from the merrily burning buildings.

Derek scratched at the back of his neck. He did not turn and look at Stiles. “Thought we could…stay. For a bit.”

Stiles was definitely looking at him, possibly like he was a little crazy. “Does the heat make you go loco? Is this something I should worry about? Are your eyebrows going to migrate to your sideburns and you’ll get all clawy or something? You gonna try and eat me and not in that good way?”

Derek shifted on the ground, shoulders hunched, before he got to his feet. “I- Just-“ Then he slung his jacket on, leaving it open, and grabbed his gun again. “Come on, Specialist Stilinski. RV to make, copter to catch.”

Suddenly Stiles didn’t want to go any-fucking-where without some explanation. “Staying in close proximity to the facility we just blew to fucking high heaven might not be the best plan, Sarge. Just saying.”

Derek let out a breath that could totally be interpreted as a sigh. He scuffed at the flattened grass with his foot before turning back to the fairly impenetrable forest. One advantage of werewolf bosses and so on was that they were not going to get lost. Or end up in any slimy leech infested ponds. Not that Stiles had done that. Recently.

Derek looked back impatiently. “I guess we’d better get back to the others.” He sounded… reluctant.

Stiles’ mind started working again. It took a couple of minutes after a truly great explosion after all. “I shouldn’t be on this type of mission. This is Scott’s type of thing. All long range weapons and all. I’m usually just the driver.” Derek opened his mouth but shut it at Stiles’ glare. “And the only reason you’d want me to drag my breakable and exhaustable human self through the fucking rainforest is… to be with me. Alone.”

Derek wasn’t looking at him again. Stiles knew he’d be getting a “Shut up, Stilinski” if he was miles off track. Which he wasn’t. Which meant…

“You getting sick of camping out, Sarge? Thought you’d bring your little subordinate boytoy on a jaunt for a little one on one time?” Stiles could read the minute shifts of Derek’s expression now. He had experience. He had patience. He had put in a lot of time doing very little other than watching Derek. For research. And because he was so damned pretty. Derek’s expression was saying that Stiles was damn close to the truth. “Oh. This is your idea of a date, isn’t it?”

“Not…really. No.” Derek grunted out the words between clenched teeth. “I know how to date.”

“Sure you do.” They hadn’t exactly done any of those things. No movies or restaurants or romantic getaways. Either they were in a place where ninety percent of the populace wanted to kill them or in the middle of fucking nowhere. Where, it turned out, romantic candlelit restaurants were few and far between. “This works, though. Little violence, pretty light show. Fuck in the grass.”

“We don’t- Stiles.” Derek had his fists clenched and Stiles almost hurt with how painfully earnest Derek was trying to be. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

“Not just orgasm time?” Stiles could feel a low, hot burning sensation in the middle of his chest. He rubbed absently at it. He and Derek hadn’t really had much chance to talk about their whole thing. Relationship was this word both of them were avoiding and anything else sounded tawdry or romance novel-esque. They fucked each other and they didn’t fuck around and it was good. And Derek didn’t tear out Stiles’ throat which he was totally capable of.

Derek started pushing his way through the trees and Stiles followed.

 

They were in this shitty town three weeks later, where the most English anyone spoke were Justin Bieber lyrics. Stiles had to beg (he wasn’t proud. Really really wasn’t) and Scott persuaded everyone else on the squad to head to the local bar and quite literally drink any locals under the table. Leaving Stiles to scrub his hands on his pants and hope Derek wasn’t going to misinterpret this. 

Derek frozen in the doorway wasn’t the best start. Stiles looked around the room. They’d rented the rooms in a hotel that Peter looked entirely too delighted to be in and that Jackson had shuddered at. The army might have rubbed the sheen off the spoiled brat he’d once been but, every so often, Stiles was reminded of the guy he’d enjoyed tormenting.

Who was he kidding? He still loved tormenting Jackson. 

Putting Jackson out of his mind, Stiles beckoned Derek into the room. The slam of the door was over loud and it made him start. Stiles was pretty much on a knife edge. “Is it too much?”

He’d ‘borrowed’ some candles in hurricane jars from the restaurant down the street when he’d ordered plates of pungently spicy rice and meat he didn’t examine too closely. Scott had sniffed and declared it fine. He’d also liberated a table and a chair from Peter’s room two floors above. They were all colleagues after all. He’d stolen Peter’s sheet as well and was currently using it as a tablecloth.

Derek seemed fixed on Stiles. His eyes didn’t move from his face, not even when Stiles awkwardly gestured to the chair nearest Derek. It was only when he looked away and took a step backwards that Derek did anything at all.

He sometimes forgot just how quickly Derek could move, all contained muscle and arrogance. Derek didn’t let out his more werewolfy side in polite company – he’d been integrated too long. He tended to save it for combat situations where Stiles wasn’t really watching, too busy trying to keep his own skin intact. But here was Derek who seemed to flow like water around the tiny room and had Stiles’ mouth in a kiss while Stiles’ brain was still trying to catch up with the fact Derek was no longer by the door.

Then Stiles stopped worrying and just kissed Derek back. He let out a moue of protest when Derek walked them backwards towards the bed. “Dinner?”

“I’m going to take you out, Stiles. We’re going to hit up a club afterwards and we’re gonna dance and I’m going to be so smug that I get to take you home.” Derek was kissing down Stiles’ neck, licking away any scrapes of his teeth. Then he pulled up and looked at Stiles again. This time Stiles had to rack his brain to think what the expression was. “I want to.”

“I want to, too.” Stiles snickered a little at how ridiculous he sounded and watched Derek’s face flicker through an odd expression. He shifted under the weight of Derek’s arms and paid more attention. “You…”

“This is nice though. Convenient bed, tablecloth. Candlelight.” Derek ran his nose over Stiles’ jawline. “Almost like a proper date.” Derek dropped his head and continued his mauling of Stiles’ neck. His hands wormed their way under Stiles’ shirt and his thumbs stroked the hard spurs of Stiles’ hipbones, urgent and needy. Stiles loved that. He loved the way Derek took him apart, the way Derek kissed. He… 

“I want you to, Derek,” he repeated, a little quieter, voice a little rougher and wondering. That would do until, perhaps, they were ready to take this whole dating thing a whole lot more seriously. Or maybe- Stiles gave in and shoved at Derek's clothes.

He didn't even regret it when their food went cold.


End file.
